Chapter 33 #2
And there was something else, too. The intimacy of knowledge.
Gwen’s hands finding her like they always had, without fumbling, without hesitation.
The tilt of her jaw, the exact pressure of her mouth, the way her thumb stroked the inside of her thigh like she knew Maggie would shiver because she always had.
That familiarity made it sharper, sweeter.
Not just want but knowing. Not just heat but history.
Her fingers dug into Gwen’s hair, messy and soft between her hands, holding her close, grounding herself in the solidity of her. And then the words tumbled out without her permission, whispering against Gwen’s mouth between frantic kisses:
“Missed you, missed you, missed you.”
It came out like a prayer, desperate and holy, half-choked with tears, her lips trembling against Gwen’s as she said it again and again. Each repetition loosened something tight in her chest, untying knots she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying.
Gwen groaned low, almost breaking, and Maggie felt it vibrate through her whole body.
She pulled her back into another kiss — softer this time, but no less intense — because it wasn’t about proving anything anymore.
It was about the relief of being known, of being touched by someone who had always seen her, always understood exactly what she wanted, what she needed.
The way Gwen’s hands moved like they still had a map of her drawn somewhere under her skin, every brush and press precise, not careful but confident, and Maggie felt herself unraveling faster because of it.
She gasped into Gwen’s mouth as Gwen shifted down, pressing hot kisses across her collarbone, tugging the neckline of her dress lower. “You — always know—” Maggie panted.
“Of course I know,” Gwen murmured against her skin, her voice rough. “You’re mine.” She slid her mouth over Maggie’s nipple.
Maggie groaned at that, arching up, fingers clutching the back of Gwen’s neck. It was the kind of line that should’ve sounded possessive, but in Gwen’s mouth it felt like truth — like a promise, like a claim Maggie had been waiting to hear again.
Her giggles slipped through even as her breath caught. The van seat squeaked when Gwen moved lower, and Maggie burst out laughing. “Oh my god — this car is going to be so loud—”
“Then be quiet,” Gwen said, smiling against her stomach, and then pushed her dress higher.
Maggie bit down hard on her lip, stifling the sounds that rose up anyway. She reached down, threading her fingers through Gwen’s hair, tugging, guiding, desperate for more.
Gwen groaned in response, low and vibrating as her tongue slid against Maggie, and that sound almost undid her.
Maggie gasped and laughed at the same time, pressing a hand over her mouth, her whole body trembling as Gwen worked her the way only she could.
Not tentative. Not experimental. Just knowing. Exact. Perfect.
Maggie moaned, lost in the sensation. She’d forgotten what it was like — to be touched by someone who could read her without asking, who didn’t have to guess, who knew her body like it was muscle memory.
Every shift, every flicker, Gwen anticipated it, answered it, pushed her higher until Maggie was dissolving, crying out, her laughter catching on sobs as the release ripped through her.
She slumped back against the seats, hair stuck to her damp face, chest heaving. Gwen slid up, kissing her messily, tasting her smile.
Maggie tugged her closer, fumbling with Gwen’s belt until Gwen swore softly and helped. Clothes shifted, another flurry of kisses, and then her fingers were slipping into Gwen’s wet heat. Gwen reached for Maggie, fingers gentle as they slid over Maggie’s clit, then inside.
“More,” Maggie gasped, her own fingers matching Gwen’s rhythm.
Gwen groaned, hips rocking. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
That line broke her. Maggie clutched her tighter, hips stuttering, and then she was falling again, crying out into Gwen’s mouth with ragged sounds of pleasure.
When Gwen followed, groaning her name, Maggie held her through it, heart pounding so hard it felt like her whole chest was lit up.
After, they collapsed into each other, a heap of limbs and sweat and laughter in the back of the fogged-up minivan.
Maggie pressed her face into Gwen’s neck. “Enterprise is going to blacklist us for life.”
Gwen chuckled, lips brushing her hairline. “Worth it.”
Maggie tugged her back for another kiss, softer now, smiling into it. “So worth it.”
The next morning, the lake was bright as glass, the sun already warming the autumn chill. Maggie hobbled out under the tent on her crutches, still flushed with the memory of the night before, and paused.
A long table had been pulled together, mismatched chairs tucked around it, covered in a patchwork of tablecloths.
Platters of fruit and scrambled eggs and still-steaming biscuits filled the center alongside pitchers of orange juice and carafes of coffee.
Someone had even set out jars of dahlias, a little wilted but cheerful anyway.
Everyone was there.
Pete, hair sticking up, still glowing from the night before, was feeding Gladys cantaloupe as Danica took pictures.
Danica’s mom and aunt were bickering gently over whether the bacon was too crisp.
Kiera and Izzy sat pressed shoulder to shoulder, Izzy stealing bites off Kiera’s plate while Kiera pretended not to notice.
Lillian was across from Annie, animatedly telling some story with her hands, while Annie laughed so hard she snorted into her coffee.
And Gwen — Gwen was already seated, a mug cradled in her hands, watching Maggie come toward the table. When their eyes met, Gwen’s smile was small but sure, a private thing Maggie felt in her chest.
For a second, Maggie just stood there, taking it all in.
Her friends. Her family. Her people.
The last few days had been chaos — swan attacks, ER visits, tears, confessions, laughter so loud it rattled the windows. But this… this quiet hum of voices, the way the morning light slanted through the tent, everyone calm and happy, felt like a calm exhale.
She eased herself into the seat Gwen had saved beside her. Gwen’s hand brushed her knee under the table, steady and grounding.
Pete cleared her throat, raising her glass of juice. “We feel so lucky to be here with you, to share our love with you, and to feel your love in return. To yesterday. To today. To all of us making it through this weekend without losing any more limbs.”
Everyone laughed, glasses lifted, the sound carrying out over the lake.
Maggie raised hers too, her chest so full it almost hurt.
Because for the first time in a long time, she believed it: They were going to be okay.
All of them.
Pete and Danica, already falling into the rhythm of teasing and tenderness that would carry them through.
Izzy and Kiera, buzzing with contagious, reckless joy.
Danica’s mom and aunt, fussing like they’d adopted the whole table, which — honestly — they probably had.
Even Lillian, who had shown up late but with her whole heart, sliding in like she’d been part of this crew forever.
And Gwen.
Gwen, who’d come when Maggie needed her most, who’d sat with her on the dock and finally said the words Maggie had been dying to hear. Who was sitting beside her now, their knees brushing under the table, her smile quiet and steady like it had nowhere else to be.
Maggie let the sounds wash over her — the laughter, the clink of forks, the gentle lap of the lake against the dock. For once, no sharp edge waited to cut through it. No lies hidden. Just warmth. Just presence.
She didn’t know exactly what came next — therapy, hard talks, maybe another move or two before they found their footing again. But that was the point. She could finally imagine a future without flinching.
She took another sip of her juice, smiled into her glass, and thought: This is what love feels like.
This table. These people. This love — messy, bruised, stitched together with laughter and grace and forgiveness.
All of them.